"But how is this?" I wondering cried—
As I walkt that city fair and wide,
And saw, in every marble street,
A row of beautiful butchers' shops—
"What means, for men who don't eat meat,
"This grand display of loins and chops?"
In vain I askt—'twas plain to see
That nobody dared to answer me.
So on from street to street I strode:
And you can't conceive how vastly odd
The butchers lookt—a roseate crew,
Inshrined in stalls with naught to do;
While some on a bench, half dozing, sat,
And the Sacred Cows were not more fat.
Still posed to think what all this scene
Of sinecure trade was meant to mean,
"And, pray," askt I—"by whom is paid
The expense of this strange masquerade?"—
"The expense!—oh! that's of course defrayed
(Said one of these well-fed Hecatombers)
"By yonder rascally rice-consumers."
"What! they who mustn't eat meat!"—
No matter—
(And while he spoke his cheeks grew fatter,)
"The rogues may munch their Paddy crop,
"But the rogues must still support our shop,
"And depend upon it, the way to treat
"Heretical stomachs that thus dissent,
"Is to burden all that won't eat meat,
"With a costly MEAT ESTABLISHMENT."
On hearing these words so gravely said,
With a volley of laughter loud I shook,
And my slumber fled and my dream was sped,
And I found I was lying snug in bed,
With my nose in the Bishop of FERNS'S book.
[1] An indefatigable scribbler of anti-Catholic pamphlets.
THE BRUNSWICK CLUB.
A letter having been addressed to a very distinguished personage, requesting him to become the Patron of this Orange Club, a polite answer was forthwith returned, of which we have been fortunate enough to obtain a copy.
Brimstone-hall, September 1, 1828.
Private,—Lord Belzebub presents
To the Brunswick Club his compliments.
And much regrets to say that he
Can not at present their Patron be.
In stating this, Lord Belzebub
Assures on his honor the Brunswick Club,
That 'tisn't from any lukewarm lack
Of zeal or fire he thus holds back—
As even Lord Coal himself is not[1]
For the Orange party more red-hot:
But the truth is, still their Club affords
A somewhat decenter show of Lords,
And on its list of members gets
A few less rubbishy Baronets,
Lord Belzebub must beg to be
Excused from keeping such company.
Who the devil, he humbly begs to know,
Are Lord Glandine, and Lord Dunlo?
Or who, with a grain of sense, would go
To sit and be bored by Lord Mayo?
What living creature—except his nurse—
For Lord Mountcashel cares a curse,
Or think 'twould matter if Lord Muskerry
Were 'tother side of the Stygian ferry?
Breathes there a man in Dublin town,
Who'd give but half of half-a-crown
To save from drowning my Lord Rathdowne,
Or who wouldn't also gladly hustle in
Lords Roden, Bandon, Cole and Jocelyn?
In short, tho' from his tenderest years,
Accustomed to all sorts of Peers,
Lord Belzebub much questions whether
He ever yet saw mixt together
As 'twere in one capacious tub.
Such a mess of noble silly-bub
As the twenty Peers of the Brunswick Club.
'Tis therefore impossible that Lord B.
Could stoop to such society,
Thinking, he owns (tho' no great prig),
For one in his station 'twere infra dig.
But he begs to propose, in the interim
(Till they find some properer Peers for him),
His Highness of Cumberland, as Sub
To take his place at the Brunswick Club—
Begging, meanwhile, himself to dub
Their obedient servant,
BELZEBUB.
It luckily happens, the Royal Duke
Resembles so much, in air and look,
The head of the Belzebub family,
That few can any difference see;
Which makes him of course the better suit
To serve as Lord B.'s substitute.